I Love You, Mummy
by kenziescott54
Summary: Because a mother is the most important thing in a child's world. A set of drabbles featuring characters at about 5 years old.
1. Ron

"Take it back!"

The little red haired boy stood, trembling in rage, staring at his sister.

Ginny shook her head calmly.

"Mummy loves me more than you!" she insisted. "And she loves Bill more, and Charlie more, and Fred'n'George more, and Percy more!"

"That's not true!"

"Yes it is," returned the little girl, sagely. "I heard her say so to Daddy. She said, 'I love my children, but Ronald is on my last nerve!' She loves us all but you!"

Ron's lip trembled.

"She loves me!"

"Go ask her," said Ginny, smiling, secure in her young mind of the knowledge that her least favorite brother was unloved among them all. "See what she says."

Ron turned and fled without another word. He went into the house where his mother stood folding laundry. She looked the same as she always had looked to him- tall and plump and comforting and beautiful. But today was different, because he knew that she didn't love him.

"Hello, Ronald," she said glancing over her shoulder at him.

Ron didn't answer. His eyes were filled with tears. He could not ask her. He felt cold and alone.

"What _do_ you want?" demanded Mrs. Weasley impatiently. "I've work to do, Ronald."

He had heard that tone of voice from her before, but it sounded oh, so different today.

"Nothing, Mummy," he said, turning away, his head hanging. When she heard her son's trembling voice, Mrs. Weasley turned around immediately.

"Ronald, what's the matter?" she demanded. "Are you hurt?"

"No, Mummy."

"What is it, dear?"

Ron burst into a flood of tears. Shocked, Mrs. Weasley dropped her laundry and held out her arms.

"Ron!"

He buried himself in his mother's embrace, shaking.

"What is it, Ron?"

He lifted his face off her shoulder and stared into her face.

"Mummy, do you love me?"

"Of course I do, Ronald - what a silly question! What's gotten into you?"

But Ron didn't answer. Happiness flooded him, and he buried his face in her shoulder again, his words muffled.

"I love you, Mummy!"


	2. Neville

"Hurry _up_, Neville!"

Augusta Longbottom tugged at her grandson's hand, but he dragged his small feet behind her.

"What on earth's the matter with you, child?"

"Remember this morning?" asked the little boy suddenly.

"What?"

"This morning, Gran. You said - you said I love you."

"Yes, well, I meant it. Come on!"

"What did you mean, Granny?"

Augusta stopped to look at him. His face was completely serious.

"Neville, dear, what are you on about?"

"When you said I love you, what did you mean?"

"Love is very hard to explain, Neville. It means I care very much about you and no matter what you do, I will never stop caring."

Neville was silent for the rest of the long walk to St. Mungo's.

The visit was much the same as usual. Frank Longbottom lay silent and unresponsive, while his wife stared with vacant eyes at Neville and Augusta. As usual, she stared more often at Neville.

He held her hand and told her about his breakfast, about how beautiful it was outside, about the new friend he had just made, but still she only stared.

When it was time to go, he lingered, his fingers still entwined with hers.

"Come, Neville," said his grandmother sharply. "We've plauged them far too long."

Neville kissed Alice's hand and whispered to her before he ran after his grandmother.

"I love you, Mummy."


	3. Draco

Draco sat bolt upright and clutched at his covers, trembling from head to foot.

He stared into the darkness with bright eyes, waiting for and dreading to see it - the bright flash of light in his room.

It came, and he dove under the covers. He _hated_ lightning and thunder and wind and rain, and at night when he was alone in his huge, dark room, they positively terrified him.

The thunder came again, and he whimpered, his hands over his ears, his eyes squeezed tight shut against the thunder. And he cried, out of terror and the misery of being alone.

And then he heard a sound - he always dreaded that sound, especially when it came during a storm. It was the sound of his door swinging open, and that meant he would have to cross his great bedroom and close it, a frightening experience at best, and positively paralyzing during a storm.

He steeled himself under the covers, counting - one, two, three - and was just about to jump up and run to shut the door when he heard the door close again of its own accord. Confused, he waited to see what would happen.

Footsteps crossed the room.

A voice whispered, "Draco?"

He lifted the covers. A small circle of light, cast by the candle in her hand, revealed the face he most wanted to see.

"_Mama_!"_  
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A bright flash of light rendered him blind, and he cringed.

Narcissa set the candle down on the dresser next to his bed and crawled under the cover with him. Thunder cracked, and she reached out and pulled him to her.

"I know, baby. It's okay."

He stopped shaking.

"How do you always know, Mama?"

"I love you more than anything else in the world," she answered simply.

He snuggled against her, and this time when he heard the thunder it didn't scare him. He was safe.

"I love you, Mama."


	4. Harry

Harry hated it when his uncle locked him in the basement. It was cold and dark and dusty, and sometimes he heard things scurrying.

He sat down on the step, staring out into the dark of the room. Uncle Vernon hadn't even given him a light. He was to stay where he was for an hour, his punishment for sneaking the dinner that Dudley hadn't eaten.

Gradually his eyes adjusted to the dark. Upstairs he could hear the sound of Uncle Vernon laughing gaily, Aunt Petunia saying something gently to her son. He heard Dudley's contented answer, heard him say, "Oh, yes, mum, I _love _you - "

Harry felt sudden, angry tears gather in his eyes. He had heard many mothers speak to their children that way, and children to their mothers, but no one had _ever_ spoken like that to him, and he had never spoken like that to anyone. What had he done? Why was he different? Why couldn't he have any parents?

It was unfair, that with all the other things he was not allowed to have, he had never had a mother. Everyone had a mother. Even Charlie down Privet Drive had a mother, and everyone hated Charlie.

Harry buried his head in his knees. He had had a mother once, Aunt Petunia said. But she was dead, which meant he'd never see her again. Sometimes, if he tried very, very hard, he thought he remembered her. But he could never be sure.

He had been a year when she died.

Was that old enough for her to say she loved him, and for him to understand? Was it old enough for him to say it back to her?

It was too late now and she would never hear him or say it back, but if he told her, it might make him feel a tiny, tiny bit better.

"I love you, Mummy," he whispered into the darkness.

But he did not feel any better and he knew he never would.


End file.
